


Heal Thy Wounds

by crowby



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Sick Character, Sick Crowley (Good Omens), Sickfic, crowley doesn't know how to communicate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:14:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21959437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowby/pseuds/crowby
Summary: Aziraphale is worried when Crowley suddenly shuts himself off from the world.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 199





	Heal Thy Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> merri chrysler skost :3
> 
> thank you to my wonderful friends for helping beta read this for me uwu

With the end of the world avoided and two immortal beings without a job, it seemed time moved a bit slower now. Time that was supposed to be spent meticulously planning temptations or miracles had now become time for Aziraphale and Crowley to simply be themselves. They started in the beginning with trips to the Ritz and the park, which very soon expanded to other pastimes.

There was the more tame ones like eating at obscure food establishments. Holes in the walls and dives. When they decided to confidently yet still hesitantly begin to call their outings "dates", they started partaking in the more traditional ways of it for modern times. Such as heading to the movies, or theaters in general, possibly even visiting more modern bookshops. Though Aziraphale would find them too sterile and lacking, despite him buying half the store's worth of books each time.

In turn, they would visit flower shops and the like before getting kicked out as Crowley would start a fight with the shopkeeper almost every time. It seemed the two had spent more and more free time the past half year and seemed to become more comfortable and relaxed around the other. But last week, their practically daily dates had suddenly came to a halt.

Crowley had canceled over and over. A different reason each time as to why he couldn't go out. Aziraphale didn't think much of it. Afterall, they had been inseparable for such a time now. He couldn't be mad at Crowley for needing space a bit. But it came to a head when he caught the wily serpent sneaking around town, shopping bags hanging off each arm, and looking uncharacteristically suspicious. Well, more suspicious than usual.

The worried angel came to Crowley's expensive apartment building and headed up to the penthouse without calling or notifying the other whatsoever. He felt bad, since he hated dropping by unexpected, but he knew whatever Crowley was hiding would be gone if he did warn him first.

The building felt, well, spooky. Barely any windows, which couldn't be up to code, and dark stone walls. Despite the warm, wonderful weather outside, it was absolutely freezing in the tomb-like building. Even with his many layers of clothing and even climbing up way too many flights of stairs. Aziraphale could have taken the elevator but he trusted them as much as he trusted Gabriel, which was not very much. Eventually he finally made it to the penthouse.

Aziraphale hesitated a moment. He never doubted Crowley. Well, that was a lie. He doubted him quite a few times. But he always trusted him in the end. He had known Crowley for six thousand years and that he wasn't like all the other demons. He was just a bastard is all. But for whatever reason, he was worried that he would find something that would betray that trust.

Crowley looked so very suspicious and guilty that day. The angel knew it couldn't be good, even if half the things Crowley did were not textbook 'good'. He needed to know. After fidgeting with his hands, he gave a haste knock to the heavy door. Muffled cursing and clattering came as a result soon after.

Aziraphale took a deep breath before the door opened to reveal an absolute mess that was Crowley Janthony Anthony.  
"Listen Mr. Smith, we went over this, the yelling is just- …" the hoarse voice and aggressive comment was cut short as Crowley didn't see his annoyed neighbor, but instead his angel.

"Aziraphale? What in heaven are you doing here??" the demon asked as he adjusted the blanket that was wrapped around himself and tried to fix his bedhead of hair.

"I…,” Aziraphale faltered a moment once he saw Crowley, who looked like Death, only with more flesh. He straightened his back and gathered himself together again.”I was getting worried about you, Crowley. I guess I was right to worry, you look absolutely dreadful, dear!"

Crowley was indeed dreadful. His hair was a mess, and his glasses askew. His face was red, but mostly his nose and cheeks. A thin layer of sweat can be seen as his outfit only consisted of some worn band shirt and sweatpants that barely hung on his thin frame. It seemed so odd for a man who was so fashionable, even in the most obscure of times.

The redhead waved his hand dismissively.  
"Pffft… I'm totally fine, angel. I just… ah…," He tried clearing his throat to finish the thought as his voice began to strain, but instead had a coughing fit.  
Once he finished, he sniffled a bit. He gave a lazy smile and stuffed his hands in his pockets acting like he wasn't just suffocating a moment ago.

It finally clicked in Aziraphale's head.  
"You're sick, aren't you?"  
The demon relaxed his shoulders, making his blanket fall to the ground and sighed. He was correct then.  
"Why didn't you tell me? Have you been sick this whole time? Why didn't you tell me??"

"Woah, woah. Just come inside," he said as he moved out of the way for the other.  
Aziraphale stepped inside as Crowley closed the door behind him. Even though he had been to Crowley's penthouse in the past, it was still an experience every time he saw it. It was mostly due to the choice of decor to be fairly honest.

"To answer your questions in order," Crowley said as he picked up his silk blanket and bunched it up in his arms. "I didn't tell you because I knew you would make a big deal out of it. Yes, I've been sick for a bloody week now. And refer back to the first answer." 

"Why couldn't you miracle it away?" the angel asked as he tried not to look at any of the art for too long.  
"Oh? Miracle it away? Oh geez, I can’t believe I haven’t thought about doing that this entire time! Silly me, huh??" Crowley shot back. Aziraphale looked at Crowley, unimpressed by his attitude.

“Are you quite done?” he asked, and Crowley gave a slight huff and held the blanket closer.

“Here, darling. Maybe if I…," the blond trailed off before snapping his fingers.  
They stood there in silence for a moment. Aziraphale was about to ask how he felt but was cut short by a barrage of sneezes accompanied by hissing.

"That's quite, um, odd." was all the angel could say. A pit formed in the bottom of his stomach. Were their powers taken away from them? Was this some very odd and frustrating punishment from one or both of their former sides? Were they no longer an angel and demon? Luckily, he didn't have to freak out for too long as Crowley nonchalantly miracled a tissue to blow his agitated nose.

"So, our powers are still working."

"This cold is somehow more powerful than both of us combined." Crowley squeaked out before giving a low chuckle. "Must be a punishment from hell."

"Maybe. Or maybe it is your body crying out for help.”

The demon took his sunglasses off and gave a look towards the angel.  
"What are you talking about?"

"Well, you never treat it with much care."

"I treat it with plenty of care! I sleep, I give it water or whatever, feed it some food… Sometimes."

"Actual food?"  
Crowley stayed silent on that question. Aziraphale sighed and approached the pathetic demon. He brushed some of the hair out of his face, causing Crowley's face to grow even more red. The angel took notice of this and placed the back of his hand to the blushing man’s slick forehead, making him go a darker shade of red.

“Goodness, you’re burning up terribly,” he said before placing his hands on Crowley’s sharp shoulders. Crowley tried to swallow hard from the sudden invasion of his space, but found it harder than usual with his inflamed throat.

“Let me take care of you, at least until your fever goes down.”

Crowley snapped back to his senses, shrugging off Aziraphale’s hands and taking a step back. The blond looked slightly hurt and confused.

“I told you, I don’t want you making a big deal out of it.”

“I am most definitely not ‘making a big deal’ of it. I only want to care for you since you appear to be having a hard time doing that yourself.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes and muttered out in his cracking voice.  
“What is that s’posed to mean?”

“Usually,” Aziraphale began in that matter-of-fact tone Crowley found grating. “A human gets better as time passes, not worse. Unless it’s more than just some cold.”

“Here you go! You’re doing it, making a huge deal of nothing. I’m a 6,000 year old demon, I can take care of a… a... a…” Crowley trailed off as his face contorted and stiffened. Suddenly, the demon stuffed his face into the blanket in his arms and sneezed. When he pulled away, he looked at the now ruined blanket with disgust. The former principality sighed.

“My dear boy, come here.” Aziraphale placed a hand on the taller man’s shoulder and guided him to the living room. 

It was quite a large room, with the same stone black walls as the rest of the apartment, and feeling more like a showroom than an actual living area. A black, leather sectional couch with a dark red coffee table in front of it sat right in the middle of the room. The table had nothing on it, not even looking as though it was touched once since it was bought. The couch didn’t even have a single pillow on it. Nothing else seemed to inhabit the room either. Aziraphale thought this summed up Crowley’s apartment as a whole; minimalistic to an unnerving degree. 

The sickly serpent complained and whinged as his angel sat him down on the couch. Aziraphale took the blanket from him, also grimacing at the mess Crowley left on it. He shook his head and with just a thought banished the blanket to who knows where and materialized one of his own blankets into his arms instead. It was old and the colours long since worn out, but it was one of the comfiest blankets he owned. He wrapped it around Crowley’s shoulders, who in turn reluctantly snuggled into it while mumbling his grievances. Aziraphale also conjured one of the pillows from his shop as well.

He fluffed the pillow and set it down before making Crowley lay down onto it. The demon continued to mumble and groan in his withering voice despite tightly wrapping himself in the blanket and nuzzling the pillow. Aziraphale gave him a pleasant smile and went over to the wall across from the couch. The entire wall was practically one huge window covered by a heavy red curtain. The angel quickly got to work pulling the curtain away to reveal the sunny city view. He heard Crowley groan and shuffle where he laid.

Before Crowley could bombard him with any more whining, the angel quickly went off to the kitchen. The redhead tried to sigh, but instead took to coughing into the light brown fabric of the blanket. He could admit, the blanket was a nice gesture, and the sun did feel nice on a more snakey level, but he hated how Aziraphale was caring for him. He was a demon, the original sin, the serpent of Eden, and he couldn’t take care of some measly little cold. He hated feeling this weak. He hated how Aziraphale had to see him like this and take care of him like some helpless human child.

Crowley watched the world move by as he laid there. Birds flying past the window, clouds lazily floating above the many buildings in London as the sun’s light began to dim to a soft orange. It was peaceful and serene. So much so that Crowley barely realized he drifted to unconsiousness. He was brought back to reality when Aziraphale came back with a warm bowl of soup. His vision became blurred and his head had a dull throb, but his heart swelled when he saw his angel return.

The steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup was placed in front of Crowley on the coffee table along with a spoon. He knew for a fact, there had been no food in that kitchen since at least the 50s, and no silverware either, so Aziraphale must have miracled them from his place as well. He looked to the soup and turned to Aziraphale.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said in a quiet, scratchy voice.

Aziraphale smiled and patted Crowley on the back.  
“Eat up, it will help. At least that’s what I’ve heard.”

Crowley looked down at the soup again, staring into its contents with a blank expression. He watched the steam rise as he wrapped his blanket closer to him. Aziraphale watched him contemplate the simple bowl of soup and decided now would be good to get up and go. Though the moment he stood up, Crowely’s trance broke and he quickly looked up at his immortal friend.

Aziraphale could describe the exact look in those tired amber eyes. It was some cross between scared confusion and hesitant relief.

“I’m only leaving for a moment. I’m going to grab some medicine for you.”

Crowley sighed and seemed to relax reluctantly. He nodded and spoke in that same strangled tone.  
“Some opium would probably fix this right up.”

“Er, uh, well we can only see.”

Crowley didn’t understand the awkward fidgeting from the angel, or the equally awkward reply. Before he could question either, Aziraphale was on his way towards the door.

“Rest as much as possible!” Aziraphale called out before the sound of a heavy door creaked shut soon followed.

Crowley returned to staring at the soup. It was lovely, smelled heavenly, and he didn’t expect any less from the ethereal being. He wished he didn’t have to enjoy it out of pity. He went into deep thought, thinking about how Aziraphale must find him so pathetic. Must have been why he reacted so odd just then. Oh Heaven, he must be embarrassed to be around someone like him. The redhead started to spiral as he thought way too deep into it.

He stood up, pushing the table in the process and spilling some soup.The blanket fell from his shoulders and he began to make his way to the door. He snapped his fingers as he stopped through the apartment, his clothes appearing on him in perfect condition. The soft patting of his feet being replaced with heavy boot stomps, and scaring the daylights out of any plant in earshot. He was going out to find that stuffy angel and show him just now powerful a force he could be.

He reached out to grab the door, and then everything went black.

*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`

Hot.

Too hot.

It was burning hot, scolding, but nothing close to hellfire. It seemed to hurt more than that though. Everything was crumbling around Crowley. From lofts that once crossed the ceiling to bookshelves toppling over from the futile efforts of firemen. Flames grew bigger and blurred the demon’s vision. He tried to take his sunglasses off to see better but no difference was made.

His mortal body’s heart beat against his chest like a drum, making it the only sound he could make out amongst the creaking wood and fire hoses. He reached out with every otherworldly scent as he raced around the quickly burning bookshop. He needed a sign, a scent, just anything to know that this wasn’t as bad as it seemed.

As he leaped over piles of burning first editions and caught embers in his face, he would occasionally be knocked down by blasts of water. Each time, however, it would take him longer to get back up. He was burning up, yet drenched to the bone. Leather and thin fabrics clinging to him and making him move slower as he delayed the inevitable truth.

After being blasted and knocked down again, he could only gain the strength to sit up on his knees. He stared down at the wet, rubble coated floor. Half charred books and debris surrounded him. Crowley could feel the burning in his eyes was no longer from the embers, but instead the onslaught of tears that mixed with the water and sweat. He couldn’t lift his head, he couldn’t feel Aziraphale’s presence anywhere. For once in 6,000 years, his world felt empty.

“Those bastards…!” he yelled in a hoarse voice, barely loud enough over the roaring flames.

“They killed my best friend!”

His heart ached as he spoke the reality of it all. His friend, Aziraphale, and any sign of him wiped off the face of the Earth. He couldn’t get up, he didn’t want to get back up. He would rather the remaining part of the shop crumble on top of him and let him be torn away piece by piece from all of Hell. Then, he heard it.

“Crowley?”

*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`

Aziraphale returned about half an hour later with a plastic bag full of cold medicine and a little something nice for Crowley. When he went to open the door, he found something stopped it not even halfway. He shimmied through the gap after finding he couldn’t push whatever was in the way. After finally entering the apartment, he found an unconscious demon laying on the floor. Aziraphale gasped, almost dropping his things before going to Crowley’s side. He kneeled next to the lanky body and checked it for any signs of harm, but sighed in relief to only find a high fever.

With a slight miracle, Aziraphale was able to lift the body into his arms and carry it to the bedroom with ease. The bedroom wasn’t much different, a bed with silk black sheets against the back wall and two dark brown night stands on each side. Both tables had a lamp with red lampshades. Both were turned off and the curtains drawn over two floor-to-ceiling windows. It was the same as the living room, but this time a very scared ficus shuddered in one corner, so there was at least some difference. 

He gently laid Crowley on the bed and hurried to grab the blanket and pillow from the living room, as well as grabbing an ice pack from the freezer that wasn’t there a second ago. He returned to find Crowley groaning in pain and sweating up a storm. Aziraphale quickly got to work, getting the tall man out of most of his clothes. Once that was done, he spread the blanket over him. The blond took to placing the pillow from before under his head and the ice pack over his forehead. Crowley began to relax instantly and quiet down. 

Aziraphale sighed out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. The angel smiled weakly down at Crowley. He sat down on the edge of the bed and, upon instinct, began stroking the messy red locks. Crowley seemed to relax more and gave a little whimper. Aziraphale found him cute like this, when he couldn’t put up that cool guy facade and pretend to be unbothered when he was very bothered by everything. Seeing this raw version of Crowley was rare, but he enjoyed it. It reminded Aziraphale that Crowley was more than his demon upbringing. He saw Crowley, in his semi-unconscious state, give a small but noticeable smile. This made Aziraphale’s heart swell.

Things were pleasant, as Aziraphale watched the other’s chest slowly rise and fall and that happy face rest. Things began to sour after some time, Crowley’s face contorting in pain and his breathing quickened. Aziraphale panicked, trying to miracle the ice pack freezing once more, but that did little to help. Crowley made some odd noises, and Aziraphale would have sworn on a stack of bibles that he saw him crying a bit. He began looking through the discarded plastic bag and tried to see if any medications would remedy this sudden disturbance.

“... bastards…”

Aziraphale looked up at the still somewhat sleeping man and took a second to listen to the noises and mumbles he was emitting.

“They... my… friend…”

He didn’t want to disrupt his sleep and he didn’t think it would be that good of an idea to wake him up now, but he put an arm on Crowley’s shoulder and lightly shook him.

“Crowley?” he asked meekly.

That seemed to relax Crowley’s imaginary struggles a tad, so Aziraphale continued.

“Crowley? Are you okay?”

A bit more shaking and eventually one snakey eye cracked open to the overwhelming darkness of the bedroom. The only light source was apparently the lamp right next to Aziraphale. Crowley’s heart skipped a beat as he saw it was indeed his angel. He saw that bleach blond hair illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp, making it appear almost like a halo. He didn’t think as he was blushing and sat up to put a hand to the other man’s cheek. Aziraphale took his turn to blush.

The ice pack had slipped off his forehead, and his memories came back to him. The Bentley, the airbase, Adam, Satan, the trial, and the bookshop no longer a pile of ash. He was okay, his angel was okay, and they were both going to be okay. Aziraphale found his voice eventually and began to speak.

“Crowley… are you okay, dear boy? You looked to be in pain or-”

“Stay here tonight.”

Aziraphale was taken aback. He blinked a few times and looked around, as though making sure Crowley was speaking to him and definitely not the still shuddering ficus. Crowley took to showing his desperations by placing both hands on Aziraphale’s soft, slightly chubby cheeks and making the angel as warm as him.

“Please… I need you here tonight.”

Aziraphale looked into the still moist eyes, seeing the desperation and love as well. He could also feel the love but that barely mattered right now. He gave Crowley a reassuring smile and put one hand over the demon’s own.

“I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

“Thank you, angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> check out my other works and tumblr here https://discoinfernocrowby.tumblr.com/
> 
> criticism welcomed <3


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